The Pen Is Mightier Than The Klink
by L J Groundwater
Summary: A Propaganda Ministry contest drives Hogan up the wall until he figures out how to turn things around. Just a bit of fun tied together with a very loose plot. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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Kommandant Wilhelm Klink, fearless leader of Stalag 13, the most well-run POW camp in all of Germany, stood before General Albert Burkhalter. The Colonel's noble posture and clearly excellent breeding made him an imposing figure before the shorter, far more than stout General, a fact that could not help but be noticed by the somewhat taller but also stout Sergeant of the Guard, Hans Schultz, who looked up to his commanding officer with an almost worshipful respect.

"Colonel Klink, my dear friend," said General Burkhalter, "your plan to keep the prisoners in line and in camp was executed perfectly, nothing less than I expected of you. You are to be commended."

Kommandant Klink allowed a small smile to work its way onto his face. It wouldn't do to seem too pleased in front of the General. That would come across as pride. And besides, there were others to congratulate. "Thank you, _Herr_ General. But I must pass those fine words on to my men. Sergeant Schultz, here, for example, was responsible for—"

"For hiding under a desk when he thought Colonel Hogan had a gun," General Burkhalter finished. Klink began to protest as Sergeant Schultz bowed his head, ashamed of his cowardice, but the General waved away the words. "Do not try to boost your men's position, my dear Colonel. Especially not at the expense of your own brilliance. You are too generous with them."

"Oh, _never_, General Burkhalter," Klink said modestly.

"Oh, yes he _is_, _Herr _General," Sergeant Schultz spoke up. "He is always doing kind things for us. It is his leadership that makes us work so _hard_ for him."

"He's very good to the prisoners, too, General," spoke up Colonel Hogan. Robert Hogan had been caught outside the wire last night, ensnared in a trap set by the Kommandant. Now, he stood, hands behind his back, in handcuffs, dirty, and, if he were to admit it, smelling like an American. Colonel Klink wished Hogan had cleaned himself up before General Burkhalter arrived, but there had been no time. "Colonel Klink could have had his guards shoot first and ask questions later, but no, he just made sure I didn't get away. It's one of the reasons we stay, General. Because Kommandant Klink is a good man."

General Burkhalter raised an eyebrow that drew up some of the excess skin on his face. "If he is your reason for staying, Hogan, why did you _go_?"

Hogan bowed his head shamefully. "I had to, General. I had to try—an officer's duty, you know. If I didn't, then when I get home after the war I'll be branded as a coward. I couldn't let that happen, sir, and Colonel Klink understood my position, and let me have some dignity on my return."

General Burkhalter nodded thoughtfully. "I see." He turned to the Kommandant. "Klink, I would like to take you to Berlin with me. You clearly have talents that the Fuhrer needs to be acquainted with. I would like to introduce you."

"Thank you, _Herr_ General."

"And then have you work directly for me at my office."

At this, Colonel Klink shook his head. "With all due respect, General Burkhalter, my work is here. As long as there are men fighting against the glorious Third Reich, there will be men shot down from the skies. And when those men need to be contained, it is my duty, _Herr_ General, to stop them from returning to their homeland to fight again. What happened last night with Colonel Hogan may be repeated again and again with the other prisoners, and if it does, I plan to be here to stop it."

General Burkhalter smiled approvingly. Sergeant Schultz nodded proudly. Colonel Hogan sniffled respectfully—and with a sure knowledge of continued failure in the future.

"Colonel Klink, you are an extraordinary man. I would be doing a disservice to the Third Reich if I took you away from Stalag 13. I will leave you to get on with your obviously successful business of running this prison camp." General Burkhalter looked to Sergeant Schultz. "Sergeant, I suggest that you follow the lead of your commanding officer more closely. Then you, too, may become as great as he."

Schultz nodded, properly chastised. "I can only hope to be _half_ as great as the Kommandant, General," he replied.

"And what about you, Hogan?" asked the General.

"I've learned my lesson, sir," Hogan answered, looking crestfallen. He sighed and turned to the Kommandant. "A week in the cooler, sir?"

Klink nodded. "A week in the cooler, Colonel Hogan. I will talk with you about this, officer to officer, when your confinement is completed."

Hogan nodded weakly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Another sigh. "Come on, Schultz; let's go. He got me again."

Colonel Klink accepted the defeated salute offered by the American officer, then offered one of his own to his superior officer. Burkhalter watched Hogan get led out of the room, then smiled at the Kommandant and said, "One day, Colonel Klink, I expect that _I_ shall be the one saluting _you_."

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Schultz put down the sheets of paper and looked almost mournfully at Kommandant Klink, but he said nothing, choosing instead to simply twitch his moustache.

"Well, Schultz, what do you think?" Klink asked eagerly. "Tell me the truth, now."

At this, Schultz shrugged. "I would have liked to have been _braver_, _Herr_ Kommandant," the guard admitted.

Klink furrowed his brow, thinking. "But you see how I praised you to General Burkhalter," he reminded him.

"Yes, _Herr _Kommandant. But you also had me hide under a desk."

Klink waved the idea away. "That was just... what do they call it?... artistic license, Schultz. I know you would never hide under a desk!" Almost but not quite to himself, he added, "You would never fit." Then he cleared his throat and said, "And anyway, this isn't quite the finished product. I have some rewriting to do. You may be a hero yet!"

Schultz smiled now. "Do you think so, Kommandant?" he asked.

"Yes, Schultz," Klink replied, picking the papers back up off his desk. "You may have more to do with Colonel Hogan's recapture."

"I do not think Colonel Hogan will like the way you have written him," Schultz warned him. "He does not like to cry in front of Germans."

Klink smirked as he held his precious papers even closer to him. "What Hogan likes does not concern me. He is a prisoner and an enemy, and he is _not_ in charge of my writing."

"We'll see about that," Schultz mumbled.

Klink did not hear, and continued. "And in any case, I am not writing for _Hogan_."

"Why _are_ you writing, _Herr_ Kommandant?" asked Schultz.

"Because, Schultz, there are not enough fine pieces of German writing out there—works that glorify the beauty of Germany and the discipline of the German military. Writing that shows how wonderful it can be for the German people to be part of such a fine race of proud and intelligent people." Klink smiled as though he were one of these people. "Also, there's a contest being sponsored by the Propaganda Ministry. Schultz, they're offering five hundred marks for the best submission. I _have_ to win this, Schultz. Think of what I could do with the money!"

Schultz considered, but the money wasn't in Klink's hands in _his_ thoughts. "I am _thinking_, _Herr_ Kommandant."

"I just need to polish it a little more, I think," Klink said, rounding his desk and sitting down again. "Schultz, you are dismissed. And tell Hilda on your way out that I am not to be disturbed."

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Corporal Louis Le Beau nimbly avoided the night spotlights and crept up to Schultz, whom he knew would be sitting around the corner of the barracks, thinking of sleep, instead of doing rounds among the buildings, as he was supposed to.

"Schultzie!" the Frenchman called in a whisper, expecting his greeting to wake the guard.

But he was surprised to find instead that Schultz, while exactly where Le Beau expected him to be, was wide awake. "Schultzie," said Le Beau, sitting next to him and cradling a nice warm plate full of bribe, "what are you doing up? You know you need your beauty sleep."

Schultz smiled at the prisoner, not surprised to see him. "I know that, Cockroach, but tonight I am thinking."

"You know that's not good for you, Schultz. What are you thinking about? A surprise bed check Klink will be having later?"

"_Nein."_

"A visitor to the camp that we have not been told about?"

"_Nein._ There are no bed checks and no visitors."

"What is it, then, Schultz?" asked Le Beau, almost genuinely interested now that the true reason for his visit to the guard had been completed with two easy questions.

"I am thinking about what Kommandant Klink told me today."

"What was that?" Le Beau asked, hopeful that he would get some unexpected information for Colonel Hogan.

"He told me that the Propaganda Ministry is running a contest. They are offering five hundred marks for the best story about the German military and its people."

Le Beau nodded. "That's a lot of money, Schultz."

Schultz agreed. "_Ja._ And then he showed me what he had written." Chuckling, he said, "He made it look like he was a _hero_, and General Burkhalter tried to take him to Berlin!" A huge grin broke out on his face at the thought, but it lessened when he added, "But he made me out to be a coward."

"A coward? _You_, Schultzie?" exclaimed Le Beau.

"He wrote that I hid under a desk."

"Oh, that is not right, Schultz. You would _never_ fit under a _desk_!" Le Beau declared.

"That's _right_," Schultz agreed. "_And_, he wrote that Colonel Hogan was sniffling like he was going to _cry_."

Le Beau's eyes widened. "Oh, Schultz. That is a very bad thing. _Colonel_ Hogan would never do that."

Schultz nodded knowingly. "I know, Cockroach," he said. Finally coming out from his own thoughts, the guard looked at the plate in Le Beau's lap. "What do you have there, Le Beau?"

Le Beau brought up the plate with a shrug. Schultz had earned it, after all. "Just a snack, Schultz. Some potato pancakes. Would you like them?"

"You would give them to me?"

"Of course!" Le Beau answered. "Not eating these potato pancakes will not suddenly help you fit underneath a desk!"

Schultz laughed and put his rifle aside to take the plate from his visitor.


	2. Chapter 2

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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Le Beau came back into Barrack Two, rubbing his hands together for warmth and with a big smile on his face.

Colonel Hogan looked at him from the common room table, taking a sip of his coffee. "You look pretty happy there, Le Beau," he observed. "Schultz leave you some potato pancakes?"

"Never, _Colonel_," Le Beau replied with a knowing grin. "They are all gone—and there are to be no bed checks, no inspections, and no visitors any time tonight."

"Great," Hogan declared. "I could use a break. I need things to go off without a hitch tonight."

"The Kommandant is too busy to think about such mundane things as running the camp," the Frenchman added, heading to his bunk to take off his beret and scarf.

"Too busy?" Hogan repeated. "What's he too busy with?"

"What, has ol' Klink got a girlfriend?" Peter Newkirk asked. "Blimey, he'd have his hands full just trying to keep her out of the insane asylum."

"No, there is no girl," Le Beau answered. "He is trying to get five hundred marks."

"Five hundred marks!" echoed Sergeant James Kinchloe. "That's a lot of money, Le Beau. Colonel, do you think someone's putting the squeeze on him?"

"You mean like one of our upstanding Gestapo men in the black market?" Hogan shrugged. "I suppose it's possible."

"No, no, it is nothing like that. Klink wants to win a contest for writing the best pro-German story. The first prize is five hundred marks," Le Beau explained.

"Gee, that's a lot of money," said Sergeant Andrew Carter.

"So Klink's _writing_?" Newkirk asked. "What's he writing about?"

Le Beau grinned. "Schultz says he's writing a story about how brave he is and how General Burkhalter wants to take him to work in Berlin."

"Oh, so it's a fantasy," Newkirk quipped.

"But that is not all," Le Beau added with a smile.

Kinch raised an eyebrow and smirked. "There's more?"

"_Oui._ Schultz says Klink's story also has _Colonel_ Hogan in it—and that _Colonel _Hogan is being a cry baby about being captured when he was trying to escape."

"A _cry baby_?" Hogan exclaimed. "Are you kidding?"

"_Non, Colonel,"_ Le Beau answered. "He said that you were sniffling and crying about having to go to the cooler. Of course, Klink captured you practically single-handedly."

Hogan folded his arms in close to himself and faced his men. "Oh he _did_, did he?"

"_Absolutement!"_ Le Beau said. The sudden look of real annoyance on the Colonel's face took him by surprise. "It is only a story, _Colonel_," he reminded Hogan. "Klink is not writing this in a report to Berlin."

"That's not the point," Hogan said. "It's a sign of what he thinks I'm like."

"Or what he _wishes_ you were like," Kinch countered.

Hogan nodded and relaxed, though just slightly. "Fair enough," he agreed. "Still. The fact that he'd even think I'd snivel in front of him—or anyone else—just gives me the creeps."

"Sir, you'd better get moving," Carter said from his bunk. "You have to meet Othello in under an hour."

"You're right," Hogan said, nodding. He took a last sip of his coffee and stood up. "I'll be back some time before roll call."

"I sure wish we had a bit more of a specific time than that," Kinch admitted. "I really hate the waiting."

"I know," Hogan said. "But there's a lot to do and we don't know how long it's going to take. I promise I won't be late for _appel_, though." Hogan grinned. "I'd hate for Klink to think he could _really_ try and make me cry if I have to pretend to be caught escaping just to get back into camp."

Newkirk laughed. "As if Klink could ever be a hero," he said.

"_We'd_ never write a story like that," Le Beau added.

"No," Carter agreed; "_we_ wouldn't make ourselves out to be big heroes."

"That's right," Hogan agreed. "Because we all know in our group there's no such thing as the Lone Ranger—we _all_ work together, and we're _all _important to _everything_ we do together. _Right?_"

"Right," the men answered.

"Okay, good night," Hogan said, his tone making it sound more like an order than a farewell. "Go to sleep. No waiting up. There'll be lots to do in the morning." He punched the latch that raised the bunk hiding the entrance to their main tunnel.

"Right; we will _do_, sir," Newkirk said as Hogan headed down the ladder. "We'll see you in the morning."

"I certainly hope so."

And the Colonel was gone. The men shuffled around quietly for a few minutes, then headed for their bunks, thoughtfully taking off their shoes, spreading their blankets, or putting on an extra shirt for warmth. As Carter pulled off his cap, he chuckled lightly to himself.

"Going to have sweet dreams tonight, Carter?" Newkirk, who had overheard him as he headed for his own bunk above Carter, asked.

"I was just thinking about Klink's story, and how he made himself look so much braver than the Colonel."

"It sure got under the gov'nor's skin," Newkirk declared. "I thought steam was going to come right out of his ears."

"It must be frustrating having Klink make a fool of him—even on paper—when he's so much more clever than Klink could ever give him credit for," Kinch said.

"That's right," Le Beau agreed; "_Colonel_ Hogan has to let himself look weak and helpless in front of that stupid _Boche_, even when he knows he's ten times smarter than that imbecile."

"Oh, I know," Carter conceded. "I just find it interesting that Klink had to write himself as a hero."

"That's the only way he's going to be one," quipped Newkirk. He lay back on his bunk and yawned. "He wouldn't have a starring role any _other_ way."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Carter watched as Kinch hopped in under his blanket. "Good night, fellas."

"Good night," Le Beau said from his bunk.

"Aren't you going to bed, Andrew?" asked Kinch, seeing the Sergeant still hovering near the common room table.

"Not yet," Carter answered. "I'm just a little restless tonight. I think I'll just sit up for a bit."

"The Colonel said go to _bed_," Newkirk reminded him, as though Hogan was still in the room.

"I _will_," Carter said. "Soon."

"Just keep the lights down in case Schultz is on the prowl. We don't need any Krauts around while _Colonel_ Hogan is out," Le Beau said.

"Okay," Carter answered. Then he watched from the table as the others burrowed into their bunks to fall asleep.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter stood proudly as Colonel Hogan praised him. "We couldn't have done it without your excellent explosives, Andrew." The Colonel smiled, tiredly wiping his face of both the soot and the greasepaint that covered it.

"Gee, sir, I never expected you to have to use them tonight," Carter answered.

"I was hoping I _wouldn't_," Hogan admitted. "But I was sure glad I had your stuff with me when I concluded I _did_."

Andrew's smile grew wider. "I'm glad you took it with you, sir."

"Be prepared—that motto's not just for Boy Scouts, Sergeant," the Colonel answered.

"Oh, no, _sir_," Carter agreed. "That's for everybody. It's for Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, for us—heck, it's even for the Germans. I mean how would they have gotten into Czechoslovakia if they hadn't planned it? You have to have a plan, Colonel. And that's just what you did tonight."

Colonel Hogan nodded, then Carter took the towel from his commanding officer's hands as the Colonel headed for his office. "I need some sleep," the Colonel announced. He stopped and turned back to the men in the middle of the common room. "You fellas could learn a bit from Carter," he told them; "he thinks things all the way through. It saved my life tonight. It wouldn't do anyone else any harm, either."

"Go to bed, sir," Carter urged him. "You've been working a long time."

"What about you?" the Colonel asked.

"I'll just pack up the leftovers downstairs," Carter answered. "You didn't use _all_ the stuff, did you?"

"No, not _all_ of it. That kind of a night I wouldn't be ready for—ever. Good night, fellas."

"Good night."

Carter smiled and headed for the ladder. He was proud of his Colonel. And he was proud that he himself had done the right thing by insisting that his CO take some fireworks with him, just in case. Now tomorrow would be a little easier for everyone.

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Hogan's brow furrowed when his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light of the barracks and he realized someone was at the common room table, his head bowed on the wooden planks. Quietly, he tripped the bunk tunnel entrance shut and made his way across the room, laying his hand on the unmoving man's shoulder.

A startled intake of breath identified whom Hogan had just surprised. "Carter?"

"Colonel?"

"What are you doing up?"

Carter shook his head, realized he'd left a candle burning in the barracks for way too long, and rubbed his eyes. "Gee, I'm sorry, Colonel. I was restless before, and I decided to stay up. I must have fallen asleep." He looked at his commanding officer. "How did it go tonight?" he asked.

"It was good. Tiring but good. We've got all the information we need now for our planes to get not only the ammo dump, but the munitions factory that supplies it, as well. And the Underground can help out a bit, too, once I've had a chance to think all this through."

"That's great, Colonel. Was there any trouble out there?"

Hogan shook his head. "Just the usual—patrols, mysterious cars stopping where they shouldn't, guards actually doing their job on the perimeter of the dump—and shockingly enough, a few guards actually paying attention to Stalag 13," he added with a weary smile. "It took me awhile to get back in."

"So... no explosions?" Carter asked, trying hard not to sound disappointed.

"Not this time," Hogan said. "I left your stuff downstairs."

"I'll go clean it up—" Carter began, abruptly gathering the sheets of paper in front of him on the table to himself and standing up.

"Not now, you won't," Hogan countered. "You head to bed. We're going to need some of your expertise in the morning. I found a few other things that could use our attention while I was out."

"Oh. Okay," Carter said. "Well, good night then."

Hogan frowned. "Carter? You all right? Were you up because something was bothering you?"

"Oh, no, sir. I'm fine, sir. I was just doodling. I thought I might have had a little talent there." He shrugged, smiled, and scrunched up the papers. "I guess I was wrong."

Hogan shook his head. "No, Carter, not wrong—having your stuff with me made me feel safe and prepared. And in that, you have plenty of _real_ talent." He waited to gauge Carter's reaction, and when the Sergeant seemed to accept his statement, he patted him on the shoulder and turned back toward his office once more. "Good night."

Carter smiled. "Good night, sir," he answered.

Hogan disappeared into his room. Carter took a look at the papers he had picked up off the table so quickly. _I don't need to make up stuff, _he decided; _I like what Colonel Hogan thinks of me already._ And after setting the corners of the papers alight with the flame from the candle on the table, he tossed them into the stove, and headed to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"Colonel Hogan, I want you to read something for me," Klink announced when Hogan was called to his office the next morning.

"Drafting your surrender?" Hogan quipped. "I'd be glad to, Kommandant."

"That is in _poor taste_," Klink replied. "No. I want you to read this short story I have written. It's for a contest, and I want you to tell me if you think it could win."

"I think I've heard about this story," Hogan said, irked. _It's the biggest piece of malarkey I've ever heard of!_ Then he pulled himself up: _It wouldn't do to be terribly brave, would it, Hogan?_ "I lose—_again_. As usual." He bit his tongue when Klink smiled broadly. "Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, Colonel—I don't read German."

"You were going to be happy to read my surrender!" Klink protested.

"Yeah, well, _'You win'_ is easy to read in _any_ language," Hogan answered. Klink harrumphed. "Seriously, Kommandant, it's really hard to see yourself portrayed the way I've heard you have me look in your story—even though it's true."

Klink nodded with superior understanding. "I understand, Hogan. I could translate for you. But—" he added, as he saw Hogan open his mouth to protest—"I can accept that this would be painful for you."

_In more ways than one,_ Hogan thought. "Please, sir. I'd appreciate it I you would at least make sure my men don't have to see it. They have enough trouble with me already. I'm not what you'd call an inspiration to them, Kommandant; after all, there's never been a successful escape from Stalag 13. And in the end, no matter how much I tell them I'm trying to keep them safe, I'm responsible for that."

Klink nodded again, now feeling magnanimous. "Very well, Hogan. I shall keep it to myself. But I won't change a word. I was just offering to show it to you because as a fellow officer, I thought you could appreciate the effort and the bravery demonstrated within it. But I respect your reluctance, Colonel Hogan, and I will accept it."

"Thank you, Kommandant. You know, I can accept my cowardice... but I'm still ashamed by it."

"There is nothing shameful in accepting the inevitable, Colonel Hogan. Go back to your barracks now, and take comfort in the knowledge that your men are safe, in part because you are wise enough to know that no one will ever get out of Stalag 13, as long as I, Colonel Klink, am in charge."

Hogan swallowed the bile rising in his throat and nodded. "Thank you, Kommandant."

With a noble air about him, Klink replied, "You're welcome."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Well, fellas, you can rest easy: Colonel Klink is in charge."

Short bursts of laughter followed Hogan's wry announcement. "In charge of _what_, sir?" Newkirk asked. "What are you planning now?"

"Nothing!" Hogan answered, pushing back the rim of his cap and heading for the stove. "The Kommandant just wants me to know that you fellas are safe here at Stalag 13, because I'm too much of a coward to let you escape."

Le Beau's laugh came across the loudest. "That just shows what _he_ knows," the Frenchman said. "He could not be in charge of falling off a cliff."

Hogan grinned. "That may be true, but _you and I_ aren't going to be the ones to tell him."

"Just once, sir—just _once_!" Newkirk pleaded.

But Hogan shook his head. "Someday, Newkirk. But not now. Now, we need Klink to think he's the _only person in the world_ who can help any of you with _anything_."

"Why's that, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Because that way Klink will be so busy that he doesn't have the time to figure out what we're _really _doing."

Kinch nodded appreciatively. "_I_ gotcha," he said. "You want us to keep Klink running in circles so you can organize the Underground about the munitions plant."

"Yep," Hogan answered. "Carter, you and I will be going out to meet Othello and Desdemona tonight. Kinch, set it up. Tell them we'll be at point C-10 at twenty-three hundred hours."

"Yes, sir."

Hogan started heading toward his office. "Le Beau, Newkirk, you'll be the first ones to have a go at Klink."

"Hang on, hang on, there, Colonel," Newkirk piped up. "Desdemona? As in, a beautiful dame?"

Hogan turned back to the Englishman. "Desdemona, as in: brown hair, blue eyes, about five foot six, with a deep voice—"

"Ooh, some of those throaty voices can be very sexy—"

"And a beard."

Newkirk scowled. "Oh. Never mind, then. I hereby rescind my intended volunteerism."

Hogan grinned. "I thought you might."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan and Carter made their way back down through the tunnels to where Kinch was sitting by the radio, scribbling on some paper. "Welcome back," he greeted them.

"How'd everything go here?" Hogan asked.

"Fine. Le Beau found out there was going to be a surprise bed check, so Newkirk riled Klink up so much the guy just gave up and went to bed."

"What'd he do?" asked Carter, pulling off his black hat and pulling his black shirt over his head.

"He told Klink he was doing a self-improvement course and wanted to know more about Hitler's life when he was writing _Mein Kampf_. He was asking so many questions, Klink couldn't get away—and since Klink could never admit he's probably never read the thing, he finally ran away from Newkirk and told Schultz to shoot him if he got near him again!"

Hogan smiled. "That's our boy—able to annoy even the heartiest of Krauts to the point of a nervous breakdown."

"I'm not so sure I'd call Klink _hearty_," Kinch said.

Hogan shrugged. "Me, neither. But the job is done for tonight. Carter has some work to do in the lab tomorrow, and Klink will probably be too skittish to come out of his office and notice if he's looking a little dusty at roll call."

"I take it that means everything went well tonight."

"Couldn't have gone better." Hogan nodded toward Carter. "Head on up and get some sleep. You're going to be busy tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." Carter grinned at Kinch. "I'm going to ask Newkirk what his techniques were—then I can use them myself!"

"You don't need them, Carter," Kinch teased good-naturedly.

"Yes, I do!" Carter answered. "You never know when Klink's gonna be in the way at the wrong time, and—" He stopped, as his brain caught up with Kinch's statement. "Oh, you're funny, pal," he said, heading past the radioman and up the ladder. "A real Bob Hope. I might use some of my techniques on _you_!"

Carter laughed and the others joined in. "Good night, Carter," Hogan said.

"Good night, fellas—uh, sir—and Kinch."

Hogan smiled tolerantly as Carter disappeared up the ladder. "It's always a treat listening to Carter when he's on a roll," he said. "You coming upstairs?"

"In a few minutes, Colonel," Kinch replied. "I just need to finish up down here."

"London still on the line?" Hogan asked. He frowned. "I thought you said there wasn't any trouble."

"There _isn't_," Kinch said hastily. "I was just... uh..."

"What?" Hogan asked.

Kinch seemed to debate within himself for a few seconds, then he looked at Hogan sheepishly and said, "To tell you the truth, Colonel, I was just doing some writing."

"Writing? I didn't know you were a writer, Kinch."

"I'm _not_, ordinarily. But I got to thinking about Klink and his writing contest, and it kind of... nudged me to try it myself."

"Well, I sure hope yours is more realistic than Klink's."

Kinch smiled. "It is. Maybe. It's not necessarily a bad thing to want to be a hero once in awhile."

"No, I suppose it's not," Hogan admitted. "Although doing it when you don't have it in you—like Klink—means you could get yourself shot, or worse."

"Sure, I know that, Colonel."

"So what were you writing?"

"Well..." Kinch shrugged. "I guess I just got a bit enamored with the idea of being the important one for once, too. And so I... well, I started writing a story where _I_ get to go out and get the bad guy."

Hogan furrowed his brow and frowned. "Kinch?" he said.

"I was just scribbling, Colonel. Passing the time. It doesn't mean anything. I know someone has to stay down here. And I mean, it's not like I can easily be mistaken for a Kraut."

"It's not that, Kinch. Well, yes, it is. Look, I know you don't get to go out as often as the rest of us, but you can't ever think that what you do isn't vital to the operation. I mean _really_ vital."

"I suppose so," Kinch conceded, "if there isn't anyone else who knows how to use a pencil."

Hogan's frown deepened, and Kinch saw real concern fill the Colonel's eyes. He regretted telling his commanding officer in the first place. "Kinch, I'm sorry," Hogan said.

"Colonel?"

"I haven't been doing my job, Kinch. A good commanding officer makes sure all his men know just how important they are. I haven't done that with you. I've taken you for granted. And for that, I'm sorry."

Kinch lowered his eyes to his lap. "You've got a lot on your mind, Colonel: the operation, the Underground, the Krauts. Everyone has their part to play. I know we can't all go running around outside, and I know I'm one of those fellas who _definitely_ can't do what most of the others can. But I don't think you've taken me _for_ _granted_, Colonel. It's just that my job is here at the radio, and I like to think that you know everything's running smoothly at home base because of my expertise, and that you count on it when you're traipsing around the woods outside camp."

"I do," Hogan said with a nod. "But that doesn't mean I shouldn't do a better job at making sure you know it."

"I know it, sir. I was just playing around." As Hogan opened his mouth as if to protest, Kinch added, "Hey, you'd better be prepared: _I'm_ the one who's gonna know _first_ when the Krauts finally surrender. And then _you're_ gonna have to go and break it to Klink!"

"Kinch, I—"

"Colonel, forget it. You've made me a real important part of this operation. And that's more of a chance than I'd have gotten just about anywhere I can think of. Whether I'm outside the camp or inside the camp, it doesn't matter, really. Not in the long run."

Hogan stayed quiet for a moment. Kinch just waited. "Kinch, if you're sure—"

"I'm sure. And I've told you before," the Sergeant added: "keep your hands off my radio. You don't know what all the dials and switches do, and you mess up my equipment something awful!"

Hogan snorted a soft laugh, and finally smiled. "Okay, you win. But if you ever think that I'm not doing enough for you, I—"

"Colonel," Kinch interrupted, "let me shut this thing down and get upstairs. I bet I'll have a lot of work to do with the Underground tomorrow, too."

"Yeah, you will." Hogan gave Kinch a direct look. "We all depend on you, Kinch."

Kinch smiled. "I know, sir. _Good night._"

"Good night."


	4. Chapter 4

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Sergeant Schultz, I am very proud to be presenting you with this medal for bravery and courage above and beyond the call of duty."

"_Danke, Herr Kommandant,"_ answered the tall, strapping Sergeant of the Guard. Hans Schultz stuck out his chest, proud to be receiving this long overdue recognition from his commanding officer.

"This camp would not run nearly as well as it does without you."

"That is _correct, Herr_ Kommandant," the Sergeant agreed. "I have a lot of work to do every day to make sure the other guards are not slacking off. This is a one-man show most of the time, you know."

Klink was nodding and nodding as his prize soldier spoke. "I know. And I appreciate everything you do here, Sergeant."

"Not enough, you don't," said Colonel Hogan, the head of the prisoners. He had been watching the presentation. "Heck, I think even the prisoners think more of Schultz than you do."

"That's _Sergeant_ Schultz," corrected the guard.

"Of course. I'm sorry. _Sergeant_ Schultz," Hogan said. "We think the world of him. And even though he keeps us in line—goodness, but he is _strict_—we know that he is doing what is best for his country, and what is good for us, to stop us from getting hurt."

"That's _right_," Sergeant Schultz said.

"Hogan, you can say this, even when Sergeant Schultz is being commended for stopping a mass escape attempt by you and your men?" Klink asked.

"Of course I can," Hogan answered. "A good soldier is a pleasure to see in any military, even the enemy's."

"That is a very kind thing to say, Colonel Hogan," said Sergeant Schultz.

"For you, it's worth it, Schultz—_Sergeant_ Schultz."

"_Danke._ Now, if you would let me go and do my work, _Herr_ Kommandant, there are prisoners to guard," said Sergeant Schultz, devoted to his duty as always.

Klink opened his mouth like a fish out of water and shook himself. It had not even occurred to him. "Yes, of course, Sergeant," he said with one final salute at Sergeant Schultz. "I could not keep you from you duty."

"Very good, sir," said the Sergeant of the Guard. "Let us go, Colonel Hogan; you have some time to spend cooling your heels."

Colonel Hogan hung his head, sighed, and followed as Sergeant Schultz walked toward the camp cooler.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Le Beau shook his head slowly when Schultz finished reading. "Oh, Schultzie, I thought you were going to be _different_ than the Kommandant."

"Different?" asked the guard, scrunching up his nose. He peered back at the paper that he had just translated for the prisoner. "I thought it was different, Cockroach. I did not make Kommandant Klink look like the only person who keeps Stalag 13 running."

"Well, you did that in a _way_, Schultzie. But you made it look like it's all _you_!"

"I am the Sergeant of the Guard!" protested Schultz. "I have to know _everything_ that happens in camp to make sure none of the prisoners escape."

"And you did it at the expense of _Colonel_ Hogan _again_. You are the one who told me he would not like to appear to be crying."

"He was not crying!" Schultz countered. "I only showed him who is the guard, and who is the prisoner."

Le Beau nodded. "You sure did _that_," he said.

"Did you not like _anything_ about it, Le Beau?"

"I liked how devoted you are to your duty, Schultz. You are a good man. I don't think Klink understands how hard you work around here!"

Schultz let out a scornful _harrumph_. "That, you are right about," he said. "The Kommandant thinks all I do is find a quiet spot to sleep in, and that I forget about my rounds."

Le Beau stuck out his lower lip in a pout. "That's not nice, Schultz," he agreed.

"No, it isn't," the guard answered. "I am _always_ on the alert."

"That's right," Le Beau agreed. He stuck out the tray in his hands, a signal to Newkirk and Carter that it was safe to pass behind the guard toward the ammunition storage hut. "Here, eat your strudel."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"The Underground is ready, Colonel," Kinch reported. "They say they'll be at the rendezvous point with the truck at the appointed hour."

"Good," Hogan answered. "Make sure Newkirk and Carter brought all the goodies from the ammo hut to the emergency exit, and we'll start moving it out tonight. We'll plan the fireworks display for tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir." Kinch started heading back toward the bunk entrance to the tunnel.

"Kinch," Hogan called, stopping him.

"Yeah, Colonel?"

"Are you coming tonight?"

Kinch thought a minute before answering. He knew what was on Hogan's mind, and he appreciated it. "Someone has to be here, sir. Klink still needs to be off-balance. I mean—more than usual."

But Hogan held his eye. "Carter can do that."

"But Carter's your demolitions expert, Colonel. I'm not made for stuff like that."

"We're just moving it; we're not setting it up. I don't have to have Carter tonight."

"But what about the radio?"

"Baker can keep an ear out."

Kinch still hesitated as Hogan regarded him expectantly. "Well... if you're sure, Colonel," he said finally.

"_I'm sure."_

"Okay, then I'm in."

Hogan smiled and headed toward his office. "Good."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan hopped up into the upper bunk in his quarters and rubbed his eyes. A long night, and roll call in five hours. Then an unexpected knock on his door made him sigh as he presumed whatever this was about meant he was probably going to get only _four_ hours of sleep before _appel_. "Come."

The door opened, and Kinch stuck his head into the room. "Sorry, Colonel," he said, clearly having heard the weariness in Hogan's voice.

Hogan gave him a lopsided smile and tried to look more welcoming. _Don't shoot the messenger. _"It's okay, Kinch."

"I won't keep you up, sir," the Sergeant said. "I just wanted to say thanks."

"Thanks?"

"For tonight. For letting me go out."

"Purely selfish on my part, Kinch," Hogan answered. "You're tall—I needed someone to reach the high spots."

Kinch chuckled softly. "_Sure_ you did." Hogan shrugged. "Look, just let me thank you for once. I know it would have been just as easy to leave me downstairs or bothering Klink all night, but you didn't do that."

"_Easy_ isn't always _right_," Hogan countered.

"No, sir, it isn't," Kinch agreed. "But then, that's why you're a good commanding officer. You don't do _easy. _And I just want you to know that I appreciate it. So thank you."

"You're welcome," Hogan answered.

"Good night, Colonel Hogan."

"Good night."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Okay, it's time to wrap this up," Hogan said when he came back into the barracks the next day. "I don't think I can take one more day of Klink acting like he's as brave and wonderful as he wrote in his essay without wanting to strangle his condescending neck."

"What did he do now, Colonel?" asked Newkirk.

"Never mind," Hogan said pointedly. "Let's just call it a day on all the posturing coming from the Kommandant's office."

"Right," Newkirk said, with a glance at the others.

"So how do we stop him, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"Kinch, are the fellas still working that printing press downstairs?" Hogan asked.

Kinch nodded. "They just finished the monthly newsletter. They're winding everything down."

"Well, have them wind everything up again."

"What are we going to do, _Colonel_?" asked Le Beau.

"We're going to have Klink win that contest."

"_Win_ it?" Newkirk echoed incredulously. "If you think he's tough to live with _now_—"

"Hold it, Newkirk. I know what you're thinking. He's going to be pompous and impossible."

The others nodded. "Not unlike he is now," Newkirk couldn't help putting in.

"True," Hogan agreed. "But when the newspaper selects Klink's piece, it will be because it was the best piece of _fiction_ they've ever read."

"Fiction!" echoed Kinch.

"Yeah, _fiction_," Hogan answered. He looked at Kinch sharply. "That's what it is, _right_?"

"Oh, sure it is, Colonel," Kinch replied hastily. "It's just that... well, Klink was supposed to be telling about life as it really is in camp."

"That's why Klink's essay is going to be so refreshing to the judges. So of course he'll have to admit that he's really nothing like the piece of drabble they're giving the award to. If he doesn't, the public will think he's a fool."

"Why should they be any different from the rest of us?" Newkirk wondered.

"Le Beau, get the boys to find us five hundred marks."

"_Oui, Colonel._ Real, or counterfeit?"

"Please! You insult me. Counterfeit. Kinch, get the boys to warm up the presses. Carter, come up with a nice certificate to go with the money, then find your finest newspaper man clothes. Newkirk—get into Klink's office and find that essay. I'm sure he's kept a copy in his desk. He keeps patting the top drawer whenever he gets that infuriating look of superiority on his face."

"Right, sir."

"I'm going to start working on the announcement. We'll have this heading for the press in an hour."


	5. Chapter 5

No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carter and Hogan watched as Le Beau and Kinch ran circles round the courier about to hand the mail bag over to Schultz for delivery to the Kommandant's office.

"Are you sure this is going to work, Colonel?" Carter asked.

Hogan's eyes narrowed as he tried to see the moment Kinch slipped the large envelope into the sack. "I've never seen those two fail before," he answered distractedly.

"Oh, I don't mean Kinch and Le Beau," Carter clarified; "I mean this whole thing about Klink writing a great fairy tale. Do you think he'll really fall for it and go back to being his old self?"

Hogan grimaced and hugged himself a little tighter. "I never thought I'd be saying this, Carter, but I would just love to have Klink go back to being his soft-headed, indecisive, stubborn self. _That_ Klink is someone I know how to handle. _This _Klink is just begging to have his head knocked off." His eyes followed as Le Beau quickly hid something passed to him by Kinch. "And there it is," he said softly.

"Now what, Colonel?"

Hogan turned to the Sergeant, already warming up to his own task. "Now, Carter, you get ready for your entrance, Kinch will make sure everything is ready for tonight with the Underground, and I'll go listen on the coffee pot for the perfect time to make _my_ entrance into Klink's office."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"_Schuuuuuuuuuuuuuuultz!"_

The Sergeant of the Guard had almost made it out of the Kommandant's outer office when he heard his name bellowed from within. For a split second he considered pretending that he hadn't heard it, but when the door to Klink's office opened behind him, he knew he was stuck.

"Schultz! Schultz, come in here!"

He turned reluctantly. "Yes, _Herr_ Kommandant?"

"Come here, Schultz; I want you to look at this."

Schultz sighed heavily. Klink had already disappeared back into his office. Schultz followed. "What is it, Kommandant?" he asked, not out of any desire to know, but out of duty.

He was surprised to see Klink so animated. "The mail came today, Schultz."

"Yes, _Herr_ Kommandant. I delivered it."

"Well, did you look? Did you _look_?"

Schultz shrugged. "It was not my mail, _Herr _Kommandant."

"Well, I will show you this anyway, Schultz," Klink said, waving a piece of paper in the guard's face. He could not hide a most triumphant smile. "It is from the local newspaper!"

When Schultz's face registered no understanding, Klink added more strongly, "The newspaper which had the writing contest!" Klink was disappointed when Schultz's reaction amounted to no more than raised eyebrows. "The contest, Schultz! For the five hundred marks!"

Now, Schultz nodded. "The one where you wrote I hid under a desk."

"That's right!" Klink replied, totally missing Schultz's tone. "And I won, Schultz. _I won!_"

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Smiling, satisfied, Hogan nodded at Carter. "Okay, Carter, it's time. He'll be expecting you."

"Right."

"Make it good. We need this to be over with once and for all."

"You got it, Colonel."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Klink was still crowing about his glory when Hogan walked into his office. "I'd like to talk to you, Kommandant."

But Klink was too busy to think about anything his prisoner had on his mind. "Hogan—I'm so glad you're here. You need to see this."

Hogan's eyebrows furrowed. "See what?" he asked.

"This." Klink thrust a letter toward the American. "I won!"

"Kommandant, what are you talking about?"

"The contest—the five hundred marks—I won!"

"_You?"_ Hogan didn't even have to fake his surprise. Every time he thought about Klink winning a contest with that piece of drivel he'd written, he shivered.

"Yes, Hogan._ Me!_ I told you it was a brilliant piece of prose. A representative of the newspaper will be here any minute to bring me the prize. There's a certificate that goes with it, as well," the Kommandant added.

"Really?" Hogan asked.

If there was any sarcasm in the American's voice, Klink missed it. "Yes!" He was about to continue when a sudden thought brought him to a thoughtful, wishful pause. "You know, Hogan—this might even help me get a promotion!"

"_A promotion!"_

"Yes, Hogan—after all, my story is about how Stalag 13 has never had any escapes, even though all the other POW camps have. Once everyone knows it, how could General Burkhalter _possibly_ leave me off the list of those heading for General?"

It was Schultz who answered quietly. "That may not work, _Herr_ Kommandant," he said.

Klink frowned fiercely at the Sergeant. "Why?"

"Because you wrote that the General is _fat_, Kommandant. He may not _like_ that."

"But Schultz, he _is_ fat," Hogan put in.

"Yes, Schultz, he _is_ fat," Klink echoed unthinkingly. "I cannot help that he—" He cut himself off suddenly. "Oh, dear," he said as his face fell. "The General will read that, and he will think I called him that!"

"You _did_!" Hogan declared.

"Oh, shut up, Hogan; you didn't even read it." Hogan shrugged. Klink looked worriedly at Schultz. "Oh, Schultz, what shall I do? Should I tell the newspaper that I don't _want_ the prize?—Oh, but what about the five hundred marks?"

Schultz had opened and closed his mouth with each question from Klink's mouth. Now, he said, "_Herr_ Kommandant, is five hundred marks worth—"

But he got cut off as Hilda entered the room. "There's a gentleman here to see you, Kommandant," she said.

"Who is it?" Klink asked.

"He says he's from the _Hammelburg Times_."

Klink's eyes widened. "He must be here about my essay. Oh, Hogan, what do I _do_?"

Hogan grinned. "Learn to ski?"

Klink didn't have time to respond as Hilda moved out of the way and a slim fairly young man who seemed lost inside his large overcoat came into the office. "Which one of you is Wilhelm Klink?" he asked, his mouth not quite visible under his moustache.

Klink didn't move. Hogan, beside him, shoved him hard. "Uh—I am," Klink finally said.

The moustache curved upwards in a smile. "Ah—Kommandant," the young man said. "What a pleasure, to finally meet you. I have read your account of life here at Stalag 13, and I must say, I was very impressed."

At this, Klink openly and willingly smiled. "Well, thank you, _Herr_—uh, _Herr_—"

"Mueller," said the man. "But there is no thanks necessary. I always get great pleasure out of reading a good piece of writing."

"You are very kind, _Herr_ Mueller."

"Indeed," Mueller continued; "I was most intrigued by the style you used. I saw many different approaches to the subject, but never once did I even imagine that someone would use _fiction_ as a way to portray the greatness of the German people."

Klink was still smiling. "You're very kind, _Herr_ Mueller," he said again. "I wrote the way I—" He stopped as Mueller's words finally caught up with his brain. "I'm sorry, did you say fiction?"

Mueller's smile got even bigger. "Yes, of course! The prisoner, standing there about to cry; the guard, hiding under a desk; the General, coming to pull a common jailor from his POW camp to work in Berlin because he has stopped a single escape. It was all quite laughable—and so enjoyable to read!"

Klink's laugh and smile were clearly false to Hogan and Schultz, but the Kommandant kept them up anyway. "Oh, yes, _Herr _Mueller, yes," he agreed. "You know, I thought, well _anyone_ could tell a straight story about wartime and how heroic everyone is being. But I thought... well... I thought..."

Hogan plowed in to help the faltering German. "He thought that by exaggerating the facts and turning everyone into caricatures that he could get people to focus on the point of the piece—that it takes more than one man to run a POW camp and have it be successful, and Colonel Klink works with his men to make sure things happen as they should—even if it means that innocent prisoners like myself never get to make it out of our enemy's hands."

Klink had listened intently to Hogan's declaration, amazed that the American was turning his honest, straightforward story into this twisted fiction. Still, he turned a frozen smile toward Hogan and nodded. "Exactly," he said. "Exactly!" The smile thawed as he realized that Hogan was actually saving him from possible trouble with Burkhalter, and Klink laughed. "I hope no one took what I wrote _seriously_!"

_Herr_ Mueller smirked. "That would be impossible," he answered. He looked at Hogan. "This would be your broken senior POW, Colonel Hogan?" he asked.

Hogan arched an eyebrow. "That's right," he said pointedly. "But of course, I'm not as broken as Klink wrote me to be."

"Of course not. You would have to have been a complete mashed potato to be like that in real life. Not unlike—" Mueller turned his eye on Schultz—"you. You would be Sergeant Schultz?"

Schultz straightened. "_Jawohl_, _Herr_ Mueller," he replied.

Mueller smiled again. "You are the one who hid under your Kommandant's desk!"

Schultz shifted uncomfortably. "That's right, _Herr_ Mueller," he said.

"Impossible," Mueller countered. Schultz smiled. "You could never fit under a desk." The newspaper man looked at Klink. "You have done well, Colonel. No one seeing Stalag 13 could ever believe that it is really as you say. And yet your story still shows the bravery and resilience of the German people. I remain impressed."

Klink smiled ingratiatingly. "Thank you, _Herr_ Mueller."

"It is time for me to present you with your prize."

Klink's smile got impossibly wide. From underneath his large coat, Mueller pulled out a scroll neatly rolled and tied with a red ribbon, and an envelope. "Your certificate of award, Colonel Klink," he said, handing the scroll to the Kommandant. Klink accepted it with silent glee. "And... your money." This, Klink took even more quickly. "Five hundred marks."

"Thank you, _Herr _Mueller."

"Well earned, Kommandant. Spend it wisely."

"I will, sir."

"There's a little _fräulein_ in town that he can afford to take out to dinner now," Hogan said helpfully.

"That's right!" Klink almost sang. Then he realized Mueller was still standing there. "Hogan, don't help me," he amended.

"I must go," Mueller said. He drew himself up straighter. "Colonel Klink, it has been a pleasure. Perhaps you should write more fairy tales."

Klink smiled. "Perhaps," he agreed with a false laugh.

"I'm sure you have much to do. I will leave you to get on with running your delightful prison camp. Try not to make the prisoners laugh too hard, Colonel—you might attract more than you can fit in the stalag!"

With a laugh and a farewell, Mueller left the office. Hogan turned to Klink and said, "I think I'll leave you alone, too. I don't think I can handle your kind of humor."

"Very well, Hogan," Klink said dismissively, still distracted by his good fortune. Suddenly he recalled what was happening before Mueller had come in, and he added hastily, "And Hogan—you _do_ know I was only joking about General Burkhalter being fat and you being a cowed, sniveling prisoner." He laughed nervously. "Don't you?"

Hogan paused on his way out the door. "Of course I know, Kommandant. The idea that you run the camp the way you wrote it had to be pure fantasy."

And he was gone, leaving Klink nodding, until the Kommandant realized that Hogan had insulted him yet again.

Outside the office, Hogan crossed back to the barracks. Passing Mueller, who was about to step inside a car, he touched a hand to the man's elbow. "Nice work," he said without stopping.

"Thanks," said a distinctly un-German voice in return.

Hogan came back into the hut to the grins of Le Beau, Newkirk and Kinch. "Well done, sir," Newkirk said.

"_Oui_, you and Carter were _superb_!" Le Beau agreed.

Hogan smiled back, satisfied. "You fellas would have loved Klink's face when Carter told him his work was a wonderful fairy tale. I thought it was going to slide right off his skull."

The men laughed. "Where is Carter now?" asked Le Beau.

"Heading out of camp in the car we borrowed from the motor pool. He'll come in through the tunnel."

"Quite a guy, our _Herr _Mueller," Kinch chuckled.

"That he is," Hogan said. "Now all we have to do is watch the mail for the next few days to make sure Klink never finds out he's not really the winner."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Two days later, Carter was watching the door while Kinch reported in after his radio contact with the Underground. "And Othello says the best part of all is that the munitions factory is apparently going to _stay_ out of business. The Krauts are looking at razing what's left of it and using the land for farming."

Hogan let the side of his mouth curl up in a smile. "A much better way to use any land," he said. "Then Le Beau can pilfer what he needs to make us even better chow."

"Here it comes, Colonel," Carter said suddenly from the door. "Schultz is heading toward Klink's office."

"Don't let him get there," Hogan ordered. "Le Beau: you know what to do."

"_Oui, Colonel." _The Frenchman moved away from the stove and poked his head out the door. "Schultzie!" he called in a conspiratorial voice. "Schultzie, come here!"

The guard, heading toward the Kommandant's office, paused when he heard Le Beau's call. He looked toward the barracks, then all around him to make sure no one was watching, then he scurried toward Barrack Two.

"What is it, cockroach?" Schultz asked, his face pulled into a frown.

"Schultzie, I need you to test something for me; come in." Le Beau pulled the guard into the common room. Kinch and Carter immediately came up on either side of him and moved him toward the table. "It is a special recipe that my _grand-mère_ taught me, and I finally had the right ingredients to try it here."

"And you want... _me_... to test it?" Schultz asked incredulously.

Le Beau shrugged. "Why not? You have a better sense of taste than almost anyone else in camp—especially the _English_."

Newkirk made a face at Le Beau. "Now that's not very nice, Louis." Le Beau just shrugged. "But in the interest of good international relations, Le Beau, I'll let it pass, and I'll happily bypass those concoctions you try to call food. Schultz—it's all yours."

Newkirk put his hands on the guard's shoulders in a friendly fashion, pulling off the guard's mail bag and handing his rifle to Carter. Schultz began to protest. "But Newkirk, I have to bring the mail to the Kommandant—"

"Never mind that, Schultz," Kinch said. "When's the next time you'll get a chance to have something special like this?"

"Not for a long time, Schultz!" Le Beau answered for him, his voice tempting.

"Oh... well... all right," Schultz said. "But just a little bit. I have to bring the Kommandant his mail. He hates it when I am late."

Newkirk laughed heartily. "You won't be late, Schultz; you'll be on your way in no time."

As Kinch and Carter crowded in and Le Beau got the guard's attention with the pot he had sitting on the stove, Newkirk pulled away from the group and looked carefully through the mail bag until he found what he needed. Replacing the bag behind Schultz, he moved slowly toward Hogan's office, where the Colonel was at his desk, patiently waiting.

"How'd you go?" Hogan asked.

Newkirk handed the Colonel the local newspaper and the mail addressed to Klink. "All here, sir."

Hogan nodded as he took the offerings. "Good." He flipped through the envelopes, stopping to pull one out and handing the rest back to Newkirk. "Here. These can go back. Now let's see..."

"Who's that from, sir?"

Hogan didn't answer. He opened the envelope and scanned the letter quickly, his face getting more and more dismayed. "I don't believe it," he practically whispered.

"Sir?"

Hogan shook his head and read again, then he put the letter down and opened the newspaper, rapidly turning pages until he found what he was looking for. "I don't believe it!" he said again.

Newkirk was getting worried. "Colonel, what's the matter?"

Hogan looked up. "Never in a million years, Newkirk," he said. Then, his voice still full of disbelief, he announced, "The letter is from _The Hammelburg Times_ about the writing contest. Klink won!"


End file.
